After All These Years
by ShiningSoul24
Summary: Years after Soul becomes a death scythe, Maka and Soul are living apart, having pursued separate dreams. Dissatisfied with her mundane life, Maka makes some spur of the moment decisions, uprooting her idle life with the rekindling of an unrequited love. MakaxSoul with a tinge of smuttiness.
1. Leaving Home

**"The joy of life is variety; the tenderest of love requires to be rekindled by intervals of absence."**

 **-Samuel Johnson**

Inexplicably exhausted, Maka crossed her office, circumnavigating piles of textbooks and papers stacked well above her thighs. A dull headache formed in her left temple as she surveyed the stacks which once gave her so much joy. As she punched the numbers on the dusty rotary, being too much of a mess to call through the mirror, she knocked over newsprint, sending it sliding through the air and under the desk. Groping blindly under the antique table as she held the corded receiver to her ear, her free hand swept back and forth across the thick carpet. Her fingers closed around the paper and a stray novel that must have found its way under months ago, Maka half slammed the objects on the table in aggravation as her call went to voicemail, the tone piercing the silent room. She fell into the desk chair heavily, which moved minimally over the worn carpet as it squeaked to a stop.

Maka let out a long sigh and pushed over the newspaper and paperback to the side. The corner of the book caught her eye and she slid the yellowing parchment aside. She paused for a moment before gingerly taking up the loosely bound novel and tuning it in her hands. It was the first novel she had edited, just days into her career. Its crinkled pages and coffee stains filled her with a strange nostalgia, just a spark of the fire that filled her years ago, now so long gone.

Bits of feeling poured back in her; emotions she hadn't felt to this degree in months flooded her: the joy of publishing her first books, the deep depression in denying hopeful writers, and the harmony in receiving elated looks on young faces being told that would leave their mark in this world. Then the mingling occasional poignancy she would get that settled not long after overtook her. It clashed with the deep-set apathy and disillusion that now enveloped her. Like a callused hand gripping her tight, this strange mood settled in her, brewed in her gut for longer than her memory could record. Her entire existence seemed squeezed into this small room, her entire worth the net product of years of studying and training amounted to what? Was it a few hundred dusty novels leaning against shelves in crumbling shops, none of which were even hers?

She yearned for more, something to distract herself from the ever present cloud that hung above her, threatening to open up at moment. When novels ceased to compel and immerse her, Maka would wonder if she had peaked early, if this was the beginning of some ironic end.

And, in a sense, her worst fears came to light.

Two nights ago, she was joined by something other than the piercing numbness. In the middle of a novel she knew that her company would never consider publishing, she couldn't read another line. The words blurred into lines and then blotches, and despite her efforts, she could only mechanically read them. No thought or feeling registered; they lost all meaning and became empty shells of ink plastered on cheap parchment. So she waited it out like fever, even took the day off certain it was fatigue that rendered her incapable of working, but her problem persisted.

On the second day Maka decided to quit. The decision might have seemed hasty, but the pride and joy she had felt her first few years had dissipated long ago. Only an intangible chain kept her fettered to this lifestyle, its fictional hold to strong to break.

She laughed bitterly at the irony of the silent phone. How painfully irreverent she now was, how wasted her life now seemed when placed against the bleak backdrop. And, for the first time she craved something greater, desired more than long lonely nights spent reading page after page of the same novel rewritten tenfold. It all felt and tasted the same to her. Each book became a copy of the last, like a fresh coat of paint covering the same wall- it was a guise of originality and importance.

She stared at her reflection from across the room. The floor length mirror adorning a fancy cast iron frame was propped against the wall- a gift from a thankful author whom she helped start a successful series of novels. It stood dusty for years, in the same patch of dusty carpet it was first placed on, casting a rainbow of color on the opposite wall of the room.

She noted her tired look, the dark circles under her eyes- a byproduct of persistent insomnia. Her hair which once only lay in pigtails was pulled back into a more sophisticated but messy bun that made her look as old as she felt. Her lips were a thin hard line and her eyes a dulled green, lacking the luster and spark that once filled them. Despite being in the prime of her life, she couldn't have felt less alive, less invigorated. Getting up swiftly and walking in the quick no nonsense gait she was so accustomed, Maka stood in front of the reflective glass for a moment, noticing the sharp edges of her figure that never quite rounded out with age. Placing hands on either side of the object she, tried sliding it over put it proved too heavy, the paint on one edge created an unsightly mark across the wall.

A scratchy white blanket sheet thrown on the small love seat next to her would solve the issue. Throwing the thin cotton sheet over the mirror, she felt much better now that she couldn't see the problem. She felt like a child covering his eyes to make something go away. Out of sight out of mind, wasn't that how the clichéd saying went?

After another failed attempt at calling her business, she made her way over to the solitary window in the room. The window let in light that brought her such a melancholy feeling she could not stand it. The oppressing rays shone on one particularly tall stack of papers and books, casting the shadow in such a way that a distorted vase was drawn on the opposite wall in layers of translucent darkness. And suddenly she couldn't take it anymore, the tiny room, its patchy carpeting, the small crack on the far wall, what became the entirety of her life, filled her with unnerving sadness.

Before she could process it, Maka was rummaging in her closet for her winter coat and a pair of gloves. Throwing on a worn pair of boots, she made her way out her front door and into the cold evening. Her breath came out in hot wisps, cirrus clouds on her tongue, condensing on contact with the air as she smelled the rich aroma only a crisp winter evening has. The key in her pocket felt heavy, the door behind her mockingly large.

Gripping the jagged edge of the cool metal until it almost pierced skin, Maka made a split second decision. Throwing the door open with two hands, she blindly chucked the metal to the end of the hall, earning her a dull clink as it hit the metal table and bounced into the adjoining room. Before losing her nerve, Maka flipped the lock and slammed the door shut, falling against its peeling paint and sliding down onto the damp concrete of her front steps.

She chuckled softly and looked up at the moon; its exposed teeth seemed to be grinding as thick clouds passed in front of it. All the space in the world was above her and she still felt enclosed in something. A pincushion- yes a pincushion is what it was. She was trapped in a pincushion looking up at the pinpricks that were the stars. Just beyond them was her escape. It was absurd; she was absurd to be thinking like this.

She tried emptying her mind of everything as she lifted herself up off the sodden doormat, not caring for the spot of wetness that most likely had seeped through her coat.

Letting her legs carry her throughout town, Maka made her way past the little shops and restaurants she had spent hours in lifetimes ago. The apartments and streets crisscrossing between them blurred into one solid blob of scenery.

She felt invisible walking among the bright lights and amid happy crowds. Veering off the main road, Maka took the dirt path that she once used as a shortcut from her old apartment to the school. The trees swayed with the howling wind and she wished she had brought with her a hat or scarf to wrap around her.

She stopped in the middle of a wooden bridge that Soul had pushed her off when they were just students at the DWMA. A pang of sadness set over her as she remembered him, the memory returning in pieces.

It was hot that day, so unbearably hot that they skipped a day of training to cool off by the bank of the river. Soul had stripped down to his underpants and Maka chuckled despite herself at the memory of her sneaking glances from the side of the river, oblivious to the fact that Soul knew what she was doing. She could almost see him wading shoulder deep across to her side of the shore, taunting her. The memory was so crisp it stung, she could almost see him on the snow covered grass walking bare-chested toward her, and she could almost feel as her heart sped up as he drew nearer to her.

She recounted how she had slipped on a muddy patch getting up so quickly when he ran after her. The rough pebbly make up of the bridge she retreated up was so vivid, as vivid as the feel of his hands that wrapped around her and sent her sailing over the edge of the wall and into the frigid water. Oh how she had yelled at him from in the middle of the creek. A piece of green riverweed was plastered to the side of her face and she reached up to take it off she had lost her balance on the algae coated rock she stood on and was swept away with the gentle flow of the river. Had her head not so suddenly slipped under the water causing her to swallow two mouthfuls of tepid river water, she would have been fine. But the grimy liquid filled her lungs before she found footing. After the plunge her memory blurred. She must have made it across the water and to the shore where she lay sputtering as Soul leaned over her not giving her a chance to answer the string of questions he threw at her. After reaching a gallon or so of water, her water logged lungs managed to sputter out,

"Soul Eater Evans, you will be the death of me, but not before I manage to choke you with my bare hands." She had never seen a face light up so might at such solemn words, but them again she doubted few ever said anything as remotely strange as that.

A gentle plop in the water brought her back to reality. A few kids were cracking the ice that formed around the point bar, throwing lopsided pieces into the icy torrents with their gloved hands. She watched one particularly large sheet languidly make its way toward her. As its jagged edges passed the underside of the bridge, she realized just as that memory it was destined to become water under the bridge.


	2. Coming Home

**"Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak."**

 **-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

It was the cold that finally broke her will. After a while of wondering and pushing aside regret, the cold settled deep her, causing a persistent shiver to rock her as she made her way down familiar streets, only half lucid in her actions.

She noticed the faded ivory doorbell had stiffened when she pressed it with a gloved pointer finger. The high pitched ding filled the empty space around her, reverberating to the stillness of the night. When the door finally opened, she didn't know who was more surprised to see a familiar face, Soul or her. The slightly annoyed look morphed into genuine surprise upon realizing who was at his door.

"Maka? What are you doing here?" he asked staring at her, mouth half agape. His crimson eyes were still as piercing as she remembered; in fact he hadn't changed much over the past six years. He held the door open expectantly for her, waiting for her to step in, but her boots were filled with lead so instead stood in the cold formulating a coherent response.

"I- I just needed some air," she answered lamely at the quizzical look that now took over his expression, then she quickly added, "I was passing though and decided to visit- if that's okay with you." He paused, looking over his shoulder as if looking for someone.

"Oh course, it's technically still your place too." He shuffled to the side to let her pass. The warm air enveloped her and she bid her time by taking off her outerwear slowly to survey what had become of her old home. She was more than a little surprised at his insistence that she still belonged here. Considering how suddenly she had pried herself away from her old life it was almost comical for him to suggest this, as if she still had some sort of connection to this place- or any for that matter.

The room could have been frozen in time; the same scratches adorned the walls, alongside the crooked framed drawings hanging above the amorphous stain on the floor that just never seemed to go away despite countless hours of scrubbing.

Soul scratched his face as he waited for her to untie her boots and set them aside in the same corner as she had done for years. He kicked a stray T- shirt into the hall closet as she hung up her coat and grinned sheepishly before saying with a tussle of his hair,

"Sorry about the mess. Things haven't been as clean since you left. I didn't know I was having company." He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Me either." She said simply. Soul didn't answer, but Maka managed a hard smile as she followed him into the kitchen. She was surprised at how little he had changed the place. The living room was flipped around so the TV was on the other wall, most likely to make room for the new couch. The only other major difference was that the curtains that hung in the kitchen were taken down and replaced by bamboo blinds. Aside from that, it was like walking into a time machine and coming out 5 years in the past.

She sat down in her chair and watched Soul set a kettle to boil on the stove. She noticed that he had grown considerably since the lost time she had seen him- at least two inches, but his sleek and slender build was still the same. She was surprised, and slightly happy, to see him still wearing the same bandana over his snowy hair, it made her feel as if nothing had changed over the years. She could easily have been waiting on morning coffee before going the academy, but when he sat down next to her the thought dissipated, replaced with the ugly truth.

"So, you're quiet," he said to her, resting his chin on interlocked fingers while staring seemingly through her. She swallowed with difficulty, unsure of what to say. He followed the wood grain of the table with a fingernail and she spoke.

"How have you been?" She had attempted sincerity, but ended up cringing instead. He looked at her with tired eyes as the kettle behind him let out a nearly indistinguishable whistle had the room not been as silent as it was.

"If you had bothered to call every once in a while maybe you'd know," he said coolly, almost jokingly. She noticed a cold underlying tone, as if he had meant for these words to hurt, but changed his mind at the last second. Nonetheless, they pierced her. She suddenly got an unmistakable urge to run; it had been a mistake to come here. Soul clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back on his chair, she noticed how handsome he still was and wondered if he had lived with anyone during their time apart- but she quickly pushed the idea away, it wasn't why she was here. The adolescence of the thought half shamed her into speaking. What really brought her here, she didn't know.

"Things have been busy." She said finally, unable to come up with a feasible excuse for her negligence and lack of interest over the years. The sharp whistle of the kettle grew exponentially, until its piercing shriek put her on edge. He swiftly shoved back on his chair with a dull squeak and went up to grab the kettle, silencing it with a turn of the gas knob. He poured the two mugs of tea and set a streaming cup in front of her before placing his own.

"Lemon and sugar, right?" he asked as he placed the sugar bowl from the counter onto the table.

"Yeah, thanks," Maka said with half a smile. They sat in a comfortable silence for a minute, sipping tea far too hot to drink, neither sure of what to say. Maka noticed her mug was chipped on the side, and fingered the imperfect surface, the rough surface of the chip clashing with the gloss around it. She looked up and met Soul's eyes, which seemed fixed upon her face. She couldn't help but to notice that the years only made him more handsome, his face was more structured his eyes just slightly duller, but nonetheless captivating and intense.

"I can't tell if you changed at all." He told her, eyes still surveying her face. She didn't know what to make of those words and let them hang in the air between them for so long that she thought she may have imagined them.

"What have you been doing? You never did exactly tell me, just up and left after graduating." He asked, breaking the silence. Maka spoke without thought, as mechanically as she read,

"I worked as a junior editor for a publishing company, worked my way up the ranks and became the head of my department." He nodded and moved his head slightly to one side before saying,

"Yeah, I knew that much from Tsubaki, I meant besides work, what have you been up to? You know, meet any new people, or date anyone interesting?" Maka was caught off guard by his forwardness. Was he asking her about her love life out of interest or to tease her, knowing well enough she wasn't the type of person to do that sort of thing. Or maybe, and far more likely, he was just making polite conversation as normal people do. She thought about how to answer him. She could say she hadn't dated anyone since the last time she saw him, or ever for that matter, not counting the one night stand with a temp during her first year on the job. But, she realized how boring her life must seem to him, and how mundane it really was. That realization hit her like an incredible weight- she had wasted the last few years on her life chasing a dream that didn't belong to her. She suddenly wondered what Soul had been doing and felt incredibly guilty for being so absorbed in herself the last few years- that she didn't find the time to care. He surly had some stories to tell, lover- or lovers- to tell her about.

"I've done this and that. I haven't seen too many people, I'm just too busy with work is all," saying out loud made it sound worse. She almost blushed as he nodded slightly at her inadequate response. What she would give to know what he was thinking right now,

"What about you?" He took a long sip of tea before answering her, wiping a stray droplet off his chin with the back of his hand. Maka noticed a long thin line stretching from halfway up his arm to the elbow, a thin scar that she was certain wasn't there when she last saw him. He noticed her staring and she quickly diverted her eyes, slightly embarrassed at her own prying. He lifted his arm up to show her, and ran his fingers down the length of the silvery line.

"This I got from a stubborn witch when working with Stein a year ago. The bitch was luring old guys into a bar and taking their souls for a personal collection," she could hear the bitterness in his voice, "her little henchman, just a stupid kid, was hidden away and attacked me after we finished her. The twerp came at me with a knife and nearly took off my arm. That was pretty much the highlight of the last few years; crime has gone down and work is slow, but I guess that's a good thing." Maka couldn't believe the gap that formed between them; the leisure of her life struck her hard. While Soul continued his life as a weapon, risking his life and doing good, she was sitting in badly lit rooms correcting poorly written manuscripts. She felt sick.

"Why didn't you tell me what happened?" Soul shrugged, and she realized how unfair she sounded. She had left him with hardly an explanation after he had become a death scythe, as if trying to forget her previous life and was now wondering why he hadn't bothered to let her in on his life.

"You seemed busy- every time I stopped by at your office someone told me to make an appointment and I didn't want to bother you at home." His words stung her, he had put in effort to see her and she could count the moments on one hand in which she thought about him. Guilt settled over her as she let out the air in her lungs. A moth fluttered loudly against the overhead light, diverting both their attentions to it for a moment while in silent thought.

"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm happy you came over, but why now, after so long." He asked her nicely, sincerely even, but the way her was gripping his cup, his hand clasped tightly around the handle with veins protruding, told her he was in fact irritated. But she couldn't answer him, partly because there was no excuse good enough to make up for those years, and partly because she herself didn't know. Was admitting that time seemed to get away from her an adequate response? Of course not. But the silence hung and she lowered her eyes, studying the wood grain pattern of the table.

"You know I was starting to think you were avoiding me, or that I did something wrong to make you want to leave." He nearly whispered this forcing her to lean forward slightly to make it out, but she couldn't bring herself to answer, nor stand the silence.

"I quit my job," Maka said simply, causing him pause slightly as he brought the mug up to his mouth, "I mean, not yet. I was going to-today- but no one was answering and I just had to get away." He stared at her, at a loss for words. After a few moments she added, "That's why I'm here." Her words sounded choppy and artificial, like a round peg being forced through a square hole, they just didn't seem to fit no matter how much effort was shoved into the

"Why would you do that?" She knew the question was coming but was still surprised at the stab of pain it gave her. She wondered for a moment if she should lie, make up some tale about nasty bosses and incompetent workers, but figured lying could only worsen her situation.

"I hated it." The words from her mouth before she had a chance to think them through. But she wasn't in the slightest exaggerating. She did hate these last few years. She was surprised at her confession to both him and to herself, but even most so at his understanding countenance.

"I'll be honest, I hated it too," he admitted leaning back on his chair and staring up at the dusty ceiling adorning a moth, a blurry speck against the beige, "It wasn't the same without you, I was floating around from partner to partner and nothing really seemed to work, you know." She knew exactly what he meant; the distance carried on his voice reverberated in her own core. In a way it meant a great deal to know that she wasn't alone in the rut she dug.

"When I left, I wasn't thinking, I didn't know what I was doing- I still don't. I wanted something more than just a random job, but I wasn't sure what so I just kinda clung to the first opportunity I got," to her surprise her voice remained steady. She couldn't remember the last time she talked this much about herself. It was a liberating feeling not being confined behind bars of words; to be using them in place of merely synthesizing them provided her with long forgotten confidence. "It wasn't anything personal, it would have made more sense had it been, but it wasn't." He smiled at her brief soliloquy, hopefully in understanding and not in some distorted spite. He waved his hand as if brushing away at an imaginary fly before replying,

"It wasn't like I ever made a real effort to find you either. I was caught up in myself too, I get it." Maka leaned back on her chair, and smiled weakly. An overwhelming sense of nostalgia came over her, and memories she had in this room seemed played out in front of her. Long nights studying under the bare light fixture, morning coffee hours, and hundreds of pointless conversations during meals filled her with a crushing poignancy. She chuckled out loud at one particular memory, earning a half smile from Soul.

"What?" he asked, curious as to what had changed her mood so quickly.

"Do you remember the one morning when you fell asleep on the kitchen floor?" She asked him, still piecing the memory together. After a moment of thought he grinned the smile she remembered so well.

"Yeah, I remember. I had a Saturday with BlackStar and had to get up without my human alarm clock," he chuckled slightly before continuing, "and I tripped and spilled the coffee, everywhere." Maka smiled at the memory of finding his body amongst a puddle of coffee. It was exhilarating to know they both could remember this seeming ordinary day after all these years and for a lack thereof miracles in her life, this was far up on her list of amazing things.

"I still don't understand how you possibly could have fallen asleep like that." She went on, shaking her head side to side in nonsensical denial. He laughed with her, shoulders bouncing up and down.

"I guess I was just that tired- you were scared out of your mind!" He half smirked at her and leaned back on the legs of his chair in such a childish manner that for a moment she forgot her own age. Maka blushed and turned her face away from him at the surfacing memory.

"I was worried," she answered in defense of her past self, "What was I to think with you lying there like that. I almost had a heart attack." He leaned forward and the chair legs hit the ground roughly squishing his torso against the table and forcing him to move the squeaking chair backward an inch. He looked over to her and smiled, rows of pointed teeth meet her eyes.

"You were such a worry-wart, you know. I bet you still are too." He half mocked with a half raise of an eyebrow. Maka rolled her eyes slightly, before realizing how juvenile it was. A car horn blared from outside the window, but neither of them noticed, too engrossed to remember the present world.

"And so were you!" Maka said as a matter-of-factly, "are you forgetting what happened at the bridge?" He tilted his head to one side and squinted his eyes in a fake thoughtfulness, but Maka knew he remembered. She lifted the cup to her lips and put in down realizing she had drained it before.

"No, I don't think I do," he answered in a playful high pitch tone. Deciding to play along she left it at that.

"Yeah, it wasn't too important anyway."

"Probably not," he half smiled and quickly brought his own empty cup to his lips so not to give himself away. The conversation left her with a complete feeling, as if parts of herself that she once considered lost finally came together- only slightly dusty and bent. A rush of warmth filled her and with that came her old confidence. It made her wonder if Soul was experiencing a similar epiphany, she was nearly convinced of it.

"Come on, do you want to look around, I mean you haven't been here in years I'm sure you're wondering just how much to shit this place has gone," he asked jokingly as he picked up both cups and place them in the sink with one fluid motion. Maka gave him a shoulder raise, afraid that her voice would convey the new giddiness she felt.

She followed him down the hall awkwardly, as if she was being given a grand tour of a home she had only pictured for years. The smallness of the space amazed her, how much bigger it seemed years ago. He stopped at her old bedroom door and gestured for her to go in. She was expecting a grand surprise, maybe a mariachi band or a leprechaun yielding an ax, but the scene was quite plain.

Not much had changed since she left and she was more aware of Soul's searching eyes on her back than of the miniscule changes. The colorless walls were still the same, her desk and other negligible furniture in the same places as if encased in time. She did notice that he must have come in to straighten up her things. The scattered papers that once lined every corner and protruded from her desk at funny angles were placed in a dusty pile on the far end and the manila bedspread was replaced with a more pleasing lavender.

Soul eyes her expectantly, waiting for an insightful response.

"I liked the manila sheets, why did you get rid of them?" Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. He shook his head before exiting her room and going into his. She could hear him thought the thin walls pushing around clothes and opening and closing drawers, quickly cleaning before she would inevitably make her way to his room. She gave him a moment to get settled and scanned through her desk, marveling how intact her past was. She picked up a pen that was once bought to be exclusively used to write in a journal she kept under her mattress. The pen cap never once came off and it it's needless to say she never wrote a single word in the leather bound book. But it served its purpose, becoming scrap paper for math problems and shorthand notes. She pocketed the pen and the notebook without much thought.

After taking another moment to look around, Maka made her way out and into Soul's room. He had his back against an overflowing closet that wouldn't shut and was trying to pull over a chair to prop against it with his left foot. He froze when Maka came in, slightly embarrassed at the mess. Maka giggled for the one of the first times in her life at the sight of him and helped him to shove the chair under the knob, as if barricading the room from the monsters that once lurked in the same confines.

"you weren't joking about the mess," Maka tried to say nonchalantly, as she surveyed the room waiting for him to respond. He sat down straddling the desk chair and she sat at the corner of his bed, in the least suggestive way possible. Having read her fair share of sappy romance novels, she knew just how suggestive bed-stilling was in the literary world and hoped that notion didn't carry over to the real one.

"I actually remember what happened that day." Soul said out of nowhere. Maka blanked for a moment trying to figure out what he was talking about, and the pervious conversation come back to her. Slightly confused as to why he was bringing it up, she could only smile back at him and hope he would elaborate. He cracked his neck before continuing and Maka noticed that his expressions and mannerisms were all the same as before, not sure what she was expecting coming here- a stranger? She inwardly scolded herself at the idea.

"You almost died that day," Maka was slightly taken aback by the solemn tone in those words. They never talked about it aside from that one day, because nothing had happened- she swallowed a few mouthfuls of water and threw it back up was all, she for sure wouldn't draw it up to a near death experience.

"I wouldn't say it happened like that exactly," he tilted he head in genuine confusion this time.

"What do you mean? I had to drag you out and you stopped breathing, I would call that a close call to a rendezvous with death." Now she sported a countenance of confusion,

"What are you talking about?"

"When I threw you in you went under-"she cut him off curtly,

"I slipped on river gunk," he waved her comment away as if swatting at an imaginary fly, spinning back and forth on the chair as he retold his account.

"You got pretty close to the bank, but when I pulled you out and you weren't moving." He paused for a moment, which would have been dramatic had this been a retelling of something she had not taken part in. His brows scrunched together in a moment of thought as though contemplating how exactly to retell it.

Though she admits that memory was blurry, Maka was almost certain she'd remember passing out- or would she? Was that the sort of thing one remembered doing, or was it like sleeping- an absence of memory begetting that it ever occurred? She didn't have time to broad over the sudden epithetic idea as Soul continued without missing a beat.

"I was panicking and hating on myself for not paying attention for skipping out on health," No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't formulate the image of her lying on the rocky bank. "I mean how sucky would it have been you dying because I skip a CPR lesson to nap in the broom closet?" He added this to lighten the dreary mood he created, which lifted the corners of Maka's mouth ever so slightly. The memory still wouldn't' materialize, like a dream on the fringes of oblivion, just barely out of hand's grasp.

"And you wouldn't move for the longest time and finally you spit water on my face and I've never been so happy to be spit on." He managed a half smile that Maka barley returned. It was strange for him to have a memory of her that she didn't mentally partake in, as if he could now hold a piece of her hostage. A sort of mental bargaining chip, stashed away in his mind.

"I don't remember any of that," she admitted, "why didn't we ever mention it again?" Something like that normally would have been perfect fodder for jokes and stories, and it seemed strange that it wasn't. He shrugged, brushing off the memory while picking white lint off the desk chair and turning his face away, but not before she spied a hint of pink playing on the apples of his cheeks. He whirled around in circles twice, the creaking from the corroded metal wheels was bouncing off the walls before he broke the silence,

"I really liked you back then," he said suddenly, his hand went up to his hair and a look of reluctance crossed his face, as if he had impulsively blurted out words and wanted them back. Maka knew the feeling all too well, wishing her harsh language that managed to escape tight lips could be reeled back like a fish caught on a line. And so she stifled any comments, unsure of how to respond.

"You really didn't notice?" Maka though back for a moment, but no groundbreaking realization materialized. She attempted to convey regret through an apologetic half smile and shoulder shrug.

"No, I suppose those things went right over my head," they both laughed candidly at their cringe worthy pasts, neither too inclined to delve too far into the embarrassing memories of growing up together as teenagers.

"What about you? You must have some embarrassing romantic story," he mocked, and she willed the ascending blush to creep away from her cheekbones.

"I wouldn't exactly call yours romantic," she started,

"Fair, then how about noteworthy," he laughed and rolled over nearer to her, waiting on the verdict with arms crossed over the backrest.

"Honestly, no I don't," as she said this Soul pouted, bottom lip extended in exaggeration, willing her to go on, "or maybe I did- but I was too thick headed to know what finding someone attractive really meant." Soul laughed and she joined along, nervousness bubbling in her, like before jumping off a diving board, she knew once she took the first step there was no going back and she was mightily close to that edge.

"So, who was the lucky guy?" Soul inquired, and watched her as she fiddled with a loose string on her sleeve. The words felt stuck to her throat, but she managed to pry them out with some effort. And she jumped without a backward glance.

"It was- you actually," she stammered, feeling the heat radiating from her face. His eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head,

"Now we're getting somewhere! It's all the staring makes so much sense!" he nearly cried as if reaching an epiphany, to which Maka could only shut her eyes and wait for the embarrassment to fade. This was it- the quintessence of embarrassment.

"I did not stare, don't fabricate memories," she shot back with some bombasticity to compensate for an inadequate response, but realized it was futile. He was gleaming with the stupid pride of his Maka couldn't stand, but secretly was attracted too. She had to admit, confidence was sexy.

"Oh, you so did. I always thought you were judging me, or trying to keep me in line with those glances. Never would I have thought that Maka- uptight- Albarn would be having dirty thoughts about me," he continued to joke and Maka grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head, before remembering they were both grown adults who did grown up things like paying taxes and setting up their own doctor's appointments. It was in a way freeing to partake in such childishness. Her lapse in maturity came with a lapse in aim because it hit the side of his face. He stood up and picked up the plushy mass, throwing it back at her lightly as they both laughed brightly. He sat next to her heavily; the mattress indent pulled her slightly closer to him, making her incredibly aware of the slight brushing of his elbow on her forearm.

"You know, I'm happy you came here today, things were starting to get really quiet and I couldn't really take it. I've had to fall asleep to reruns of Death City Drama because I've missed your nagging so much," he said to her after their laughter died down replaced with a temporary seriousness. He was looking straight ahead, eyes fixed on the opposing bare wall as if trying to decide something. He blew out a puff of air and hung his head before turning to her, crimson eyes fixed on hers.

"I lied about having liked you," he stared and Maka's eyebrows furrowed, "I never actually stopped." The shock of his sudden confession must have registered on her face, because he turned quickly away, but Maka couldn't stop watching him. Her mouth hung partially agape as she waited for words that would never come. Saying that it wasn't a shock to hear those words would be a lie. Maka finally tore her eyes away from him and stared at the small hole at the foot of the wall, trying to remember how it got there. She could feel the tenseness of him, waiting on either rejection or acceptance; it was a fine line he was walking on, and an even finer one for her to draw.

She thought for a moment how it would be like to be put in his place, sitting on the bed agonizingly waiting for a response. Strangely enough, she found it easy enough to relate to.

A shout from outside the window sent her barreling back to reality and everything seemed so startlingly real she couldn't believe it. The last few years felt like dream compared to this one random moment in time. She thought of how alive she felt just sitting here stoically, as if new life had been breathed into her, and couldn't imagine having to go back to the black and white picture of her old life. Color was so much better.

Maka grabbed the collar of his shirt and brought his face down to hers in the last impulsive decision of the night. She only glimpsed the look of shock that registered on his features before closing her eyes and kissing him deeply. He remained painfully still, and Maka worried for a millisecond if she had somehow misinterpreted his words. But her feelings were allayed when he seized her roughly by the waist and kissed her back. Neither of them opened their eyes, afraid that the moment would somehow fade away if they did, or worse yet have them awake from a dream and be thrown back to reality. Either this must have been an exceptionally vivid dream or the hands that were working their way under her shirt and around her waist were real.

The sensation was reinvigorating. It was as if she was feeling for the first time. Emotions that she had long forgotten crashed over her like waves as they embraced. This incredible heat of passion was remarkably new to her, never having thought that a level of such surging emotion could be evoked though mere touch. He moved her onto his lap a little awkwardly, but without breaking the kiss, hands pulling her in as close as possible to him until she was plastered up against his muscled chest. Her hands found their way into his hair and she ran her fingers though it slowly, pulling ever so slightly at the thick tendrils. He slowly lay back on the bed, bringing her down with him and she could feel the upward turn of his lips on her own stupid grin. They were ravenous, as if they had been waiting for this moment their entire lives, and in a way they had. Maka could feel his warm hands on the small of her back. He worked his way under her shirt, pressing her into further against him. As she ran her fingers through white locks, she accidentally pulled down his bandanna over his eyes and he pulled away momentary with a laugh.

"Didn't know you were into this sort of thing," he slowly answered with a smile, his hot breath on the nape of her neck sent a shiver down her spine as patches of red formed on the apples of her cheeks. She slowly pulled herself away from him by rolling over to one side. He lifted the yellow fabric back up into its place and watched her for a moment, in dazed disbelief.

"Well, I suppose this means you're staying tonight?" he asked, her with a shy smile playing on the corners of his lips. She could tell he was holding back the same mingling excitement and fear she had washing over her at those words. All she could manage was a slight nod afraid that her voice would fail her.

"Okay then," he said before grabbing a sleeve of his t-shirt and tugging it off in one jerk, exposing his long fair torso. Maka was surprised at his forwardness and raised her eyebrows as he stepped out of his shorts, stopping short of taking off his boxers. She followed the long thin line across his chest and marveled at the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over him, with his arms half folded across his chest. He tilted his head slightly at the other end of the bed, patiently waiting for her to do the same.

Maka paused for a millisecond before getting up and tugging off her shirt in the same fashion. She purposely pulled the thin fabric over her head slowly, in full view of his searching eyes. She blushed slightly at his intake of breath as she undid her bra and let it fall to her feet, exposing her small breasts that just refused to grow more than a cup size since school ended. She wondered if he minded her lack of voluptuousness, but the way his eyes traveled about her body told her he liked what he was seeing.

Despite being minimally embarrassed at the show she was attempting to put on, she leisurely shimmied out of her pants, refusing to break eye contact as she bent over to step out of them, very aware of the way her breasts fell forward as she moved. This spontaneous exposure was exhilarating knowing that a pair of crimson eyes were watching her every movement.

Maka picked up his discarded t-shirt and slipped into the thin fabric, making a show to stretch her arms above her and forcing him to look her elongated figure up and down. After pulling the shirt down, which covered her butt with a few inches to spare, she hoped over and under the covers next to Soul.

She looked up at him expectantly and he pulled her hair out from under his t-shirt she was wearing, to make in cascade about her shoulders like a silvery waterfall. He brushed a stray piece from her face as she smiled warmly at his glowing face.

"You look cute when you blush," she said with a slight laugh, causing him to redden more before he put his arm across her shoulders and pulled her into him a little roughly, refusing to look her in the eyes. She closed hers as she spoke, trying to focus her energy into formulating sentences, but the burning of his touch made that rather difficult.

"I feel like we wasted these last few years." She arbitrarily said, hoping he'd agree.

"Really? I don't." Maka opened her eyes and looked up at him in surprise, "I mean that I don't think we really wasted anything." He said slowly carefully picking his words as he curled a stand of her hair around his fingers, "I feel as if we just finished the boring parts that everyone has to go through anyway you know? Now we have our whole lives to do the fun stuff, and not feel bad about not doing the boring things" He smiled at her with a turn of his mouth, pointed white teeth exposed, before pulling her in to kiss her deeply. He rolled on top of her after a moment, and she could feel the pressure of his hips on her own, sending blood coursing through her body, making her painfully aware of the slightest movement.

"So, how about it, do you want to move back?" he asked her in between breaths, too light headed to respond intelligently she could only muster a nod. Maka threw her arms around his neck bringing him down slowly to her so the full weight of his body was on top of her. They were a sweet tangled mess of limbs, the ravenous passion from before was diluted and replaced by with heightened awareness that burned even hotter. They melted wherever they touched; leaving waning trails of heat up and down their entwined bodies.

"Wait, the lights," Maka managed, breathing heavily from excitement and lack of oxygen.

"What about them?" he asked, as he kissed her neck, eager to continue.

"Don't you want them off?" she asked, but not to keenly, not wanting either to break the embrace to shut it off. He re-positioned himself in between her hips as he leaned in to whisper in her ear,

"Then, how am I suppose to see your face when I make you co-" Maka kissed him so he didn't get to finish, too mortified at his words. She was sure he could feel the heat playing off her cheeks as they kissed, that same heat carried over to the early hours of the morning. Waking up slightly dazed and groggy, she was surprised not to be back in her own dusty apartment, but even more so at the warm body sharing the bed next to her.

This was it, she thought as she stared at Soul's slightly agape mouth and arms hanging off the other end of the bed. She pulled the blanket over her bare shoulders, this was what she was missing in her life, what she was really looking for all these years: not a fulfilling job, not sex, not even love, just somebody she knew would be there when she woke up every morning.

And after all these years the morning light filtering through the shades was not blinding, instead, as its rays washed over their bodies, Maka could finally see.

And what she saw inspired a smile that never once faded.

 **So this was an idea I've been brooding over for some time now and I finally had the chance to write it down. Please comment and let me know what you thought! I love feedback. I originally planned for it to be a one-shot, and not to mention considerably shorter, but I got a little carried away. Anyway, thanks for reading!**


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